still tied to the horn of the saddle.

Marcus had emptied his revolver at the mule, and though he still wore
his cartridge belt, he was for the moment as unarmed as McTeague.

"I guess," began McTeague coming forward a step, "I guess, even if we
are done for, I'll take--some of my truck along."

"Hold on," exclaimed Marcus, with rising aggressiveness. "Let's talk
about that. I ain't so sure about who that--who that money belongs to."

"Well, I AM, you see," growled the dentist.

The old enmity between the two men, their ancient hate, was flaming up
again.

"Don't try an' load that gun either," cried McTeague, fixing Marcus with
his little eyes.

"Then don't lay your finger on that sack," shouted the other. "You're my
prisoner, do you understand? You'll do as I say." Marcus had drawn the
handcuffs from his pocket, and stood ready with his revolver held as
a club. "You soldiered me out of that money once, and played me for a
sucker, an' it's my turn now. Don't you lay your finger on that sack."

Marcus barred McTeague's way, white with passion. McTeague did not
answer. His eyes drew to two fine, twinkling points, and his enormous
hands knotted themselves into fists, hard as wooden mallets. He moved a
step nearer to Marcus, then another.

Suddenly the men grappled, and in another instant were rolling and
struggling upon the hot white ground. McTeague thrust Marcus backward
until he tripped and fell over the body of the dead mule. The little
bird cage broke from the saddle with the violence of their fall, and
rolled out upon the ground, the flour-bags slipping from it. McTeague
tore the revolver from Marcus's grip and struck out with it blindly.
Clouds of alkali dust, fine and pungent, enveloped the two fighting men,
all but strangling them.

McTeague did not know how he killed his enemy, but all at once Marcus
grew still beneath his blows. Then there was a sudden last return of
energy. McTeague's right wrist was caught, something licked upon it,
then the struggling body fell limp and motionless with a long breath.

As McTeague rose to his feet, he felt a pull at his right wrist;
something held it fast. Looking down, he saw that Marcus in that last
struggle had found strength to handcuff their wrists together. Marcus
was dead now; McTeague was locked to the body. All about him, vast
interminable, stretched the measureless leagues of Death Valley.

McTeague remained stupidly looking around him, now at the distan